


All You Need

by vexbatch



Category: Marvel
Genre: Bucky Barnes’s Post-Winter Soldier Hydra Revenge World Tour, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, POV Natasha Romanov, Polyamory, Sub Clint Barton, cannon was a dream i had once, greyace natasha, heck yeah, mcuchristmasexchange2020, offscreen-ish sex, wow that's a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexbatch/pseuds/vexbatch
Summary: Nat, Bucky, and Clint have taken a one-night break on the Hydra Revenge World Tour. It's nice, holing up in a borrowed cabin for the night; it's exactly what they needed.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, winterwidowhawk - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: MCU Christmas Exchange





	All You Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oper_1895](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oper_1895/gifts).



> For oper_1895, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to Ava for helping to get this ball rolling. Couldn't have done it without that beautiful and pensive starter seed!

The forest smelled like water and green things, the kind of stuff that thrived with life, even in the darkening twilight. Everything was somehow more muted  _ and _ more vibrant, where the leaves were darker and the sky seemed ethereal. Nat huffed, quietly where the boys couldn't hear. Clint liked to poke at her for being "soft," but it's hard for her to believe sometimes. It's not like she'd stopped killing, or seeing people for how they could be useful.

It's just that…sometimes she wanted to give back. And sometimes the forest is too beautiful to be denied.

There's a curse from behind her, then the clatter of dishes and laughter floated out behind. Natasha grinned then, staring up at where the moon was peeking out behind the pine trees, before turning to head back inside. The cabin they'd commandeered wasn't particularly large, the fireplace in the front room enough to heat all but the furthest corners of the pantries. 

Natasha spared one more look at the space around the cabin, checking to make sure they weren't followed, that they're  _ safe _ , before she headed back indoors.

Once Bucky had regained himself and his memories, he'd focused on obliterating any hold HYDRA had kept throughout the world. It turned out that the Avengers were the perfect team to root out the remnants of a Nazi organization, especially with two supersoldiers who thought this work had been done a lifetime ago. The Revenge Tour, as Clint had dubbed it, took a chaotic path, each team swapping continents at pre-planned intervals, made to look as random as possible.

At the moment, Natasha, Clint, and Bucky were back in North America, just above Washington State. They'd been scheduled to take out the base here the following day, but, well, Clint had spotted the tentacled logo from the air (seriously, what kind of covert op painted their helipad with their logo?). So they'd taken out the base a day early, and managed to break into a nearby cabin to spend the night. 

Natasha peeked her head in through the back door, smiling at the scene before her. Clint had found an apron and had been attempting to whip some dinner up for them while Bucky showered and Nat checked the perimeter, but it looked like Clint had instead let a tornado ravage the kitchen with flour and potato. Bucky was standing at the counter molding dough, wrapped only in a towel and still dripping as he laughed. Clint was staring sheepishly over at Bucky from the stove, stirring some kind of a sauce. It was all unbearably domestic.

Natasha opened the door more fully, letting the creaking hinges announce her entrance as she leaned against the door frame with an eyebrow raised. Bucky looked over at her before flushing, while Clint just cackled.

"Well?" Bucky nodded his head at the still open door. "Are you just gonna stand there letting the cold in, or are you gonna help?"

Clint chuckled again as Natasha shook her head, but closed the door and strode over to the sink to wash her hands. "What did you find to make?"

"I thought," Clint started, "we might make some homemade pizza, but  _ this one _ ," he nodded at Bucky, "absolutely  _ refused _ . So I asked him if he had any better ideas, he dripped all over the place, and now we're having gnocchi."

Natasha shifted her gaze back to Bucky, to see him rolling his eyes. "Will you shape the potato so I can go get dressed? It's not hard, I can show-"

"Oh I know how to do it," Natasha returned. "Just not sure if I  _ want _ to, considering it’ll mean you put more clothes on.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as she waggled her eyebrows, but Natasha sidled up next to him, pulling some of the potato-mixture off the chunk on the counter. “Like this, yeah?” He watched her form one of the balls, then nodded, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and left.

“Aww,” Clint whined, still at the stove. “That means he’s going to put  _ pants _ on, that’s the woooooorst. Why couldn’t you let him stay in the towel?!”

“If I’d made him stay in the towel, we’d  _ both _ be too distracted to eat tonight. Besides, I just want to curl up with you both tonight, not get distracted playing with his refractory period.”

Clint sighed but didn’t argue, and they passed the next few minutes in comfortable silence. Once the potato was molded, they were put in a pot to boil. Soon after, Bucky came wandering out in jeans and a sweater, taking over for Natasha so that she was free to set the table. It was sweet, how three assassins could instantly snap from a murder spree back into domesticity. Some detached part of Natasha thought this was how they clung to their humanity, letting themselves have these small quiet moments in between the bouts of violence.

Natasha shook her head, dislodging that thought. They were people, they were doing a job, and taking advantage of their down time said nothing profound. She made a mental note to contact her SHIELD therapist just as Bucky came out with a laden dish, Clint following behind with another.

“What’re you thinkin’ so hard about,” Clint asked as they set the food down and started dishing it up.

Natasha considered replying with 'nothing,' but Bucky was already giving her a Look™, the one that said  _ I'll know if you're hiding, so don't even try.  _ She just smirked at him before turning her gaze back to Clint. "Just thinking about how weird it might look, going from a murder spree to being all domestic in a stolen home."

Bucky stilled in the entryway to the kitchen, barely breathing, as Clint cut in. "Hey! This is the  _ Revenge Tour _ , we already agreed, not just a random," and Clint threw up air quotes, "'murder spree.' Besides, taking out bad guys is hungry work, and we've barely had  _ any _ snuggle time since we've been working this."

Somewhere around 'snuggle time,' Bucky unclenched, continuing back into the kitchen and rustling through the fridge. She didn't know how to be anything but terribly honest with them, but Clint had a knack for breaking the tension, and it was something she admired, especially at times like this. It sometimes felt like she only knew how to either disguise  _ everything _ or be completely open, and she knew which she'd choose with them. She'd given her heart to these men, of course she'd be forthright with them about everything, no hesitation. 

But somehow Clint managed to pull them together, gloss over the hurt, focus them on something less painful until they could handle the hard stuff...he was the best of them. Clint would argue the point until the inevitable heat death of the universe, but Bucky and Nat knew they'd gotten lucky with the liquid sunshine at their table. They all had their horrors and nightmares, but he just... _ believed _ in them,  _ relentlessly, _ and it was utterly amazing.

Natasha leaned forward, capturing Clint's lips in a gentle kiss before pulling away and sitting down. He stared at her, dumbstruck for a moment, before grinning and starting to heap food onto their plates. 

"Should we get shirts for the Revenge Tour?" Natasha joked, watching Clint with enjoyment. She would never get tired of the way his sleeves rode up over his biceps, the way he couldn't stop glancing back at her with pupils just a little blown.

"Hh, what?" Clint blinked, and she heard a quiet chuckle from the kitchen.

Bucky stepped back in with their beers in hand, grinning at Clint. "She kissed you, didn't she?" He continued to snicker as a blush rose around Clint's ears.

"Hey, you get  _ just _ as distracted," Clint bit back, but Bucky just smirked and swaggered over to where Natasha was sitting.

"Oh, do I?" The tone was innocent, but Natasha could see the glint in Bucky's eye. Clint could too, if the way he was watching them hungrily was any indication. "I don't know, I still think you get more distracted."

And with that, Bucky leaned down, catching Natasha's eye briefly and quirking his eyebrow in question. She nodded, and he captured her lips in his. This kiss was less about passion than it was about show, but that didn't mean it lacked heat. A hand came up to cradle the back of her head as it tipped back, Bucky's other hand tracing a line down her throat.

The fierce kiss ended around the time that Clint started making quiet, unconscious mewling noises from where he stood, and when they broke apart, Natasha felt flushed and wild. From the look in Bucky's eyes, bright and alive, he was feeling it too, the undercurrent of electricity there, pushing them to abandon everything else in favor of lips and hands and exploring touches…

"Not fair," Clint whined, and Nat smirked when she noted his white-knuckled grip on the back of his chair. "We are supposed to  _ eat _ , not do filthy things all over the dining room."

Natasha flicked her gaze back up to Bucky, still looming in her space, casual stance belying the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Oh we're  _ going _ to eat. We're going to sit and have a nice meal, and then after that,  _ maybe _ we can do something about you."

And Clint did honest to gods whine at that, slumping over the chair he'd been gripping, and Natasha couldn't help but laugh. Some of the electric tension drained at that, and a little bit more as Bucky strode over, giving Clint a pat on the back before sitting down. 

They dug in, at first just Bucky and Natasha chatting over their next stop as Clint recovered. Eventually he cracked some joke about HYDRA goons being thicker than the walls they hid behind, and the tension eased back into a low lying hum, almost quiet enough for Natasha to ignore it's presence. 

Almost. 

Except for when they had finished and Bucky had caught her eye, and the electricity was back immediately. "Clint, take the dishes in," she commanded, and watching Clint's spine go ramrod straight at her orders still gave her a shiver of pleasure.

Natasha watched as Clint gathered their dishes, a flush rising up his neck again, and once he turned the water on in the kitchen, she turned her gaze to Bucky. When he proceeded to just sit there, she raised an eyebrow.

Bucky chuckled, then offered, "I think getting him off would release some tension. I'm not interested in anything more tonight, and I don't think you are either?"

She tipped her head in acknowledgment, and he nodded. Finally standing, Natasha asked, "do you want him against the wall, or on the couch?"

That took a moment's hesitation, and Bucky's answer came just as the water turned off. "Couch."

Clint's head predictably peeked around the corner, cute as a cartoon. "Couch?"

Natasha rolled her eyes affectionately. "You done cleaning up?"

He scowled before disappearing back into the kitchen calling, "you're avoiding the question!" After a moment and a few clatters later, he reappeared in the doorway, loose and casual and grinning. "Done! So, are either of you planning on explaining what's happening on the couch?"

Natasha shared a conspiratorial look with Bucky, more for how it would rile Clint than anything else, and called back, "no, I don't think so."

Clint groaned, slumping a little, but there was still a smile as he turned back to her. “I guess I’ll just wait for you two out there then?”

Grinning, Natasha shook her head and stepped forward, offering her arm. “I’d rather have you next to me, hun. Bucky?” She glanced over at him as Clint placed his arm on top of hers.

Bucky shook his head, smiling conspiratorially at the two of them. “I’ll be there in a minute. Turn on something ignore-able?”

She nodded and led the way into the living room. It was cozy, with a couch that you could sink into, and Natasha swiped the remote lying on the coffee table before sprawling on top of Clint. She flicked through, setting the screen to sleep as the audio played some lo-fi playlist from the owners of the house. As she got comfortable against Clint, he murmured “thanks for finding this place. I’m glad we get to take a break, even if it’s such a small one.”

Natasha sighed, looking up at Clint. “Yeah, me too. Once we’re done with this, what’s say we just fall off the map for a while, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Clint replied, tipping his head back onto the couch to where she couldn’t see his face anymore. “Yeah, that sounds good. How long do you think we can convince Bucky to stay out of the city for though, without a Revenge Tour to distract him?”

She sighed again, turning the thought over. Their boy loved Brooklyn something fierce, but he was getting tired too. She could see the worn down edges, and hoped that they would have time to rest once this was done. “We could fall off the grid but stay in Brooklyn, I suppose.”

Clint hummed at that, and she stared up at the white ceiling, the light from the dining room canting in at an odd angle. “Either that, or you’re going to have to convince him with your no-lines tanning routine out on the farm.” He snickered at that, but she just pushed up until he was looking her in the eyes. “I’m serious, it’s fucking distracting, and might be one of the only sure-fire ways to keep him out of the city for longer than a week.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but nodded, and she settled back on top of him. Natasha was almost in a doze by the time Bucky came back, but Clint’s sudden sharp breath mixed with the newly-tensed muscles that had been her pillow woke her rather sharply. She grumbled for a moment, before taking in what Bucky was wearing.

Or rather, what he wasn’t.

He’d stripped down to his snug black boxer-briefs, and had then proceeded to put on what looked like every holster he owned, but without the weapons in them. It should look ridiculous, it should look funny and strange and a thousand things besides hot.

But somehow, between the stupidly massive thighs and the darkened look on his face, it was ridiculously,  _ ridiculously _ attractive. 

She kind of got why Clint was having trouble breathing just then.

As Bucky strutted forward, Natasha slid off Clint, leaving space between them so Bucky could control how this would go. Bucky made a beeline for Clint, who was now whimpering a little but otherwise looked as though he was plastered to the couch. Bucky knelt down between Clint’s legs, then looked pointedly to Natasha. “Would you mind keeping his mouth busy while I’m down here? The noises are great, but I’d love to shoot for ‘completely overwhelmed’ tonight.”

Bucky didn’t always take charge with this, but Natasha didn’t usually want more than kissing, and Bucky had clearly planned ahead enough to know exactly what to put on and how he wanted Clint. “I can do that, sure.”

Natasha turned on the couch so that she could kneel next to Clint, giving her more control. When she turned to Clint, his pupils were blown so far that his eyes looked black, and his breath was already coming in ragged pants. She could hear the sound of a zipper, but she ignored it in favor of leaning in close to Clint’s ear and whispering, “color check?”

“G-green,” he stuttered, and then gasped. Natasha assumed that Bucky was doing something amazing with his tongue, so she took that as her cue to begin nipping at Clint's jawline. She drew forth her own series of gasps from Clint before she finally stole his mouth, starting soft and sweet, but getting dirtier each time he moaned. 

By the time Natasha figured he was getting close, their kisses were sloppy and wet, her hand tangled in his overgrown hair. They'd break apart to pant occasionally, but the second Natasha heard Clint starting to whine again, she would latch back onto him, thrusting her tongue in until he submitted again and again and again.

Bucky reached up to tap her back, and Natasha relented, moving just far enough away to watch Clint's foggy gaze wander up to meet hers. There was a series of slick noises, and then Clint's head was tipping back and to let out a loud groan.

Natasha sat back, pleased, keeping a hand on Clint's arm to give him something like a grounding presence. Glancing down, Bucky looked gorgeous, mouth red and used, hair tousled. Bucky leaned his head against Clint's sprawled thigh, and smiled softly up at her. 

She smirked back, enjoying how wrecked and deflated both her men looked. "Have fun?" 

Clint let out a brief groan, which she shushed. "Wasn't talking to you, little bird." Natasha relented a little though, tucking herself into his side and feeling the warm pleasure emanate, as it always did when both of them were tucked safely nearby.

Bucky's gaze had flicked to Clint at the noise, but now settled back onto Natasha with a sleepy grin in place. "Very fun. Just what I needed." He stretched up, back popping in a couple places, and Natasha allowed her gaze to rove over all the rippling muscles. 

"You know it is really unfair how built you are," she quipped. At Bucky's confused glance, she continued, "you know. For all these poor HYDRA goons."

Clint started snickering, finally with it enough to loll his head over onto hers, and bringing an arm to loop around her waist. Bucky's head stayed cocked, like a dog who wasn't sure what their owner was up to. 

Natasha nudged Clint, and he obediently looked at Bucky before chuckling and joining in. "Can you imagine only having, what, six months training, and then go up against this wall of meat? Yeah, I agree with Nat, you are absolutely terrifying."

Bucky rolled his eyes at that. "Well, you two can stay here laughing about the poor wretches conned into working for an evil corporation, or you can come up to bed and snuggle." Bucky turned at that, and the view of his ass framed by those straps was enough that Natasha let out a whistle.

Bucky shook his head, calling over his shoulder, "one time only offer, up to you!"

And that was enough to get Clint scrambling up, dumping Natasha heartlessly off his lap and accidentally kneeing her in the side in his haste. "Sorry," he muttered, but she just shook her head. There was absolutely nothing in this universe that Clint loved more than cuddling between them, and all three of them knew it. 

Natasha stood up a little slower, making sure the lights were off and the door properly latched before following Bucky and Clint into the bedroom. Clint had already collapsed onto the bed, and Bucky was mid-argument about his state of undress...or lack thereof. 

"I'm not cuddling you with those fucking tac pants on; just,  _ no."  _

Clint cut in with a whine, but obediently began shuffling his pants down. "I suppose you want me to take the shirt off too, huh?"

Natasha took that as her cue to stride in, lifting her own shirt off. "No,  _ I _ want you to take your shirt off. What's the point of being all snuggled if I can't wrap your stupidly long arms around me and get skin?"

Clint groaned, but as soon as his pants were kicked all the way off, he obligingly reached up to take his shirt as well. 

Once they were all suitably undressed, they made their way under the covers, snuggled up in the strange bed they'd be leaving in the morning. Clint was, as usual, curled in-between the two of them, one arm slug across Natasha's waist, pulling her in. She wiggled a moment, finding a more comfortable spot on the too-soft mattress, but eventually gave up, staring out the window into the inky blackness of the wintery night.

The gauzy curtains fluttered a little as Natasha focused on the snow swirling, at the endless darkness. Her thoughts started to drift again, thinking on the bases they’d been taking out, of how many more were on the list, on the feeling of the last target’s neck snapping, on all the things she knew she should push away...

"Natasha?" Clint's voice was hushed, as Bucky's breath had already deepened into slumber. 

"Mm," she shifted again, and Clint's hand tightened on her stomach. 

"You okay, Nat?"

She's silent a moment longer, marshalling her thoughts and the melancholy that had been tugging at her into something coherent. "I don't know how much longer we can keep doing this."

She could feel Clint stiffen behind her, and could barely hear his whispered question. "... you're leaving us?"

Natasha blinks.  _ Oh. Of course he would jump to that conclusion. _

She shifted suddenly, turning over so that she could hold his face between her hands. "No. I am not leaving you, Clint. I'm not leaving either of you."

There was a tense moment where his eyes flicked over her face, and she laid all she had as plain as she could. 

It must've been enough, because after a moment he relaxed back again, eyes still wary. "Then wh-....oh." She watched his gaze turn distant, staring through her to see what she was trying to say. "You don't think we can keep up the Revenge Tour."

Natasha shook her head, even though he wasn't looking at her anymore. "I love him, but...I think this is going to break us. All of us."

By this point, Clint was nodding slowly. "We're almost off the reservation. It'll be... it'll be the longest we've been in the field since…."

Clint's gaze flicked to her again, focused now. "Since we were running from the Red Room," she finished, and he exhaled. Natasha drew a breath, then continued. "Even then, we weren't killing every night like we are now. It's making it...too easy. James has barely had time to find himself, and this is a certain way to lose ourselves."

Clint nodded again, brow furrowed. "He's not gonna want to stop."

"No."

The silence stretched between them, broken by the sounds of Bucky's soft snores. They'd already been up for sixteen hours, and Natasha knew that she was less coherent than she wanted to be for this conversation. But this is what they had. 

"Do you think," Clint started hesitantly, before trailing off and restarting. "Do you think he would stop if we asked him to?"

She blinked once, turning the thought over. "I haven't...you two are the first I've done something like this with." Clint knew that, knew he was the first person she had loved because she  _ wanted _ to, and it was still so hard to trust that feeling.

Clint was just watching her with those kind eyes, arm still thrown over her waist, but it was lighter on her now. He was getting ready if she needed to run again. As soon as Natasha realized that she _had_ tensed up, she consciously released a breath and relaxed as much as she could. 

Once she felt boneless on the bed again, she slung an arm around Clint's waist, above Bucky's arm, and pulled herself into him. "If you asked me to stop and we were going after the Red Room….I think I would stop." Natasha looked up, catching Clint's eyes because this felt too important for anything else. "I would trust you to have my back, to know how much it means to me, and to have a good fucking reason for stopping."

Clint leaned forward a fraction of an inch, and Natasha moved forward to meet him, closing her eyes against the quick press of soft lips. It wasn't the fevered heat they'd shared downstairs, but something much more intimate and vulnerable. 

She pulled back, catching his eyes again. "Would you trust us, if it was your dad?"

Natasha watched Clint's flinch, felt a pang at having caused that, but it needed to be asked. They needed to be sure. 

"Yeah," he said eventually, voice hoarse. "Yeah, I'd be pissed, but yeah."

"Okay." 

Clint shifted and she watched her pain mirrored on his face, his furrowed brow and eyes glazed, staring at nothing again.

“Ya know,” and Bucky’s sudden sleep-roughened voice was enough to startle Natasha into jumping the tiniest bit. The only thing that saved Clint, with as far up as he jumped, was that he was caged in by Bucky and Natasha’s bodies. 

The abrupt startle had Bucky dissolving into laughter before he could finish his sentence, and Natasha allowed herself a moment to luxuriate in his deep chuckle, ignoring the brief flush of embarrassment. Clint reached out blindly behind him to swipe at Bucky, but missed completely. 

Bucky chuckled again at that before starting over. “Ya know, you coulda fuckin’ asked me to stop.” 

Natasha blinked at that, feeling Clint still beside her. Very slowly, very quietly, she asked, “would you?”

The arm looped around Clint’s waist rose until there was a comforting hand running up and down her arm. Natasha shivered, glad of the warmth of Bucky’s hand, but still...hesitant. There was the prickle of worry, that he might say no. 

That they might lose him to his demons.

“Of course I would stop, if you asked,” Bucky said quietly, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “We can contact the team in the morning, let them know we’re going dark for a while. If you want, we can even look into who owns this place, see if they’d let us rent the place out for a while.”

Natasha blinked a couple of times, making sure tears were nowhere close before raising up on one elbow, staring at the heavily shadowed face of Bucky. “I didn’t want to lose you,” she whispered, feeling a pang in her chest as Bucky flinched at that. “I didn’t want to lose you to them, or to the bloodlust. We...I need you.”  _ I love you _ , she didn’t say, but the way Bucky looked up at her, she knew he heard it.

“I love you too,” he whispered back. Clint turned his head, still looking at the middle distance, straining towards Bucky. Bucky glanced over at him, a gentle smile curving his lips. “I love you  _ both _ , ya dorks,” he said, slightly louder. 

Natasha made a show of prickling, saying “I am  _ not _ a dork,” in her haughtiest voice, but Bucky just pinned her with his stare.

“Were you or were you not the one who insisted on us all having matching painted nails before we started on this thing?” Natasha didn’t respond immediately, doing her best to control her face into neutrality, but after a moment, Bucky’s face burst wide, laughing again. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was already smiling wider than she had all night as she leaned over and shoved Bucky’s shoulder. There was a moment where fake-shock flitted over his face, but she saw where he was bracing to come at her. She stayed still as his hand darted up, cupping the back of her head, and dragging her down for a kiss.

It was a soft kiss, the promise of trust, and  _ that _ is what finally brought a tear to her eye. Natasha jerked away, wiping at her face clumsily and ignoring the patient and kind and  _ trusting _ looks on Clint and Bucky’s faces. It filled her up, until her chest felt uncomfortably tight with emotion and she had to twist away, going back to facing the window on the edge of the bed. 

She dragged Clint’s arm back over her, giving a pleased hum as he snuggled up closer to her. “Time for sleep, boys.” Her emotions were too close to the surface, and it was definitely because they’d been up for too long, and not because the two men in her bed felt so much a part of her that it ached. 

“Yes ma’am,” Clint muttered, but he followed it with a brief kiss to her spine that had Natasha shivering briefly. Another hand laid on her side, this one noticeably warmer, Bucky’s. 

Something in her settled, and as she looked back out the window at the swirling blackness, her men behind her and the promise of a break before her, Natasha felt...grounded. Like the night wasn’t going to swallow her and what she loved. Like she could move through, graceful as if she were a prima again. Like she had some form of control in this world.

Because she had Clint and Bucky. And that’s all she really needed.


End file.
